1

              You just think you're tired.  Yeah, you've been at work all day, laboring away, dealing with the drama, and the boss, and the cubicle and you are a cliche.  Unless you work changing tires at a dock, or you are a waitress, or you work with teenagers (maybe) you don't know real work.  You just don't.  If you don't come home smelling like sulfer, bromide and a couple of other not-a-Yankee-Candle fragrance smells, you just don't get it.  Save humanity day in and day out and not get anything for it than an odd look and a 401k you can't tell anyone about then yeah.  Be tired.  Otherwise, lay in bed with your Kindle Fire everything dead out around you like three week old embers and then tell me tired.

               I'm tired.  I AM TIRED.  I am laying here just trying to get the feeling back in my legs so I can get up and go into the living room slash kitchen slash laundry room and clean what I know to be a roach fest--dishes.  Old mac-n-cheese blue box variety stuck to a paper plate in the sink, over cans of chili, etc., that during this particularly hectic season I ain't been able to address.

             The bed I never dirtied.  The bed I always kept clean.  The bed was always my refuge. Yet here I lay, smelling to high heaven, letting the dried mud on my boots flake off where I lay.

              If you think this is laziness, have at it.  If you lose respect for me as a housekeeper or a human being or nominate me for an episode of Hoarders, have at it.  Believe you me, if I gave a shit what you thought I wouldn't be laying in this bed. I care more about the mud than I do of what you think. Because believe you me, you wouldn't know what to think of me.
             Don't worry.  I'll explain it all.